I reached a personal fashion low today. Really, it was something to behold and instead of feeling bad about it, I’ve worked really hard on trying to muster up a bitchy sense of pride regarding the get-up I dressed myself in this morning. For starters, I wore a most unflattering pair of capri pants. Not that capri pants are exactly flattering on a 5 foot nothing stocky frame, but these particular pants pretty much violate every fashion rule there is for my body type. If that wasn’t bad enough, I paired the pants with a new pullover shirt that is not only too big, but has a trendy crinkly/wrinkly finish (Tag instructions: do not iron!). It was not a pretty sight, and I knew this when I looked in the mirror after getting dressed this morning. I could have changed my clothes, and in retrospect, the shirt should have been the article of clothing to abandon and replace, but I had already made this outfit choice in my head last night and felt some crazy compulsion to carry it through. Last night when I had a pulsing migraine and wasn’t exactly in my right mind. Obviously I hadn’t gotten my senses back this morning either because I kept trying to make the shirt work even though I was already late for work.
Hmm, maybe if I tucked it in. Nope, looks worse.
Well, maybe if I put a scarf around my waist. Are you kidding?
Oh fuck it, it doesn’t look that bad. Yes it does, but we’re going to pretend it doesn’t because we’re late for work dumbshit.
Now, pretty much all of you know that I work with a bunch of men, and that guys generally don’t notice what women are wearing unless there’s not much of it. As in if the woman’s practically naked and she has a really great body. So, my fashion choices normally don’t hit their radar screens, but I still like to look halfway decent at work just because it makes me feel good. Today I felt really stooopid. This had to be the worst, most unflattering outfit I’ve ever worn outside of the privacy of my own home. Ever. And I felt compelled to bring this to everyone’s attention.
You know, I really hate my outfit today. I know I must look like shit.
Oh. Well, I guess you might have ironed your shirt.
It’s supposed to look like this. It’s crinkle fabric.
Oh. It just looks really wrinkled.
Later, Ken came out to my office and surprised me at lunch.
God, I look like shit today
Well, you’ve looked better. Why didn’t you iron your shirt?
It’s fucking crinkle fabric! It’s supposed to look like this!
I spent most of the day holed up in my office, only venturing out to for cigarette and bathroom breaks. When it was time to leave, I was grateful to be going home so I could immediately rip this ghastly clothing choice off my body. As I was walking to my car, I waved goodbye to a couple of employees out in the parking lot.
Bye! God, I look like shit today!
Well, your shirt’s kind of wrinkled but otherwise you look fine!
It’s supposed to…..oh never mind.
The shirt hangs in the back of the closet now, never to be worn outside of the house again. It will make a great lounging shirt, paired up with my equally unflattering lounging pants. And the next time I look into the mirror and recoil in horror, I won’t try to convince myself that nobody will notice. Because even if they don’t, I’ll bring it to their attention.